A New Lisa On Life
by rent-a-bird
Summary: Eighteen year old Lisa Simpson is stuck in the same old town of Springfield. An unlucky Sideshow Bob loses it all. Could rekindling their friendship be anything but doomed? WARNING: Explicit sex, language. Lisa/Bob.
1. The Set Up

Lisa Simpson locked her bike on the rack outside of her first class of the semester. Springfield Community College had no ivy, no grand traditions, and definitely no prestige. When she was young, she'd hoped to escape the Simpson house the minute she turned eighteen. But Homer had wasted her college fund, and in fact the Simpson family was deep in debt. At the last minute, Marge had convinced Lisa not to sign her name to a crippling student loan and instead take her general education requirements at SCC.

She tried not to be embarrassed to be stuck in Springfield, still living in her childhood room, attending this third-rate community college with most of her old high school classmates. Her only comfort was that thanks the advanced classes she'd taken in high school, she only had two semesters to finish her associate's degree‒and then she would have a much better chance at catching a scholarship to a real university.

She took a few steps away from her bike when the entire rack collapsed.

Lisa couldn't help being late. If she hadn't fished her bike out of the metal heap, it would have been stolen and she would have had to take the bus all semester. She tried to enter inconspicuously from the back.

"I hear a late-comer sneaking in. If you expect the first day of class to be all time-wasting and syllabus reading, you are gravely mistak–"

The professor turned to face her, but stopped mid syllable when he recognized Lisa. Lisa, of course, recognized him.

"AHH! SIDESHOW BOB!"

She clapped her hand to her mouth, horrified. She hadn't meant to scream. The classroom buzzed with apprehension and speculation. Robert Terwilliger's hopeful expression died and he looked at Lisa in something like betrayal. The other students were already googling him. Hands shot into the air.

"Professor, what was prison like?"

"Terrible."

"Did you really try to detonate an atomic bomb?"

"Yes."

"Can I use an older version of the textbook instead?"

"No."

"Does the college know who you are?"

Bob sighed. "Not yet."

The room exploded with the sounds of emails typing. Bob hung his head, defeated. He packed up his briefcase and escaped. Lisa picked up a syllabus that had fallen on the floor. WELCOME TO EVOLUTIONARY BIOLOGY. She recognized some of the required reading as surprisingly modern. She chased after him.

"Bob, wait!"

Bob didn't wait, but Lisa caught up anyway.

"I'm so sorry."

"Lisa Simpson. If not for your brave intervention, I might have gotten away with teaching an introductory science course at the community college. Bravo!"

"The way I reacted was wrong, and totally involuntary! I know you're not the same man who–"

Bob halted to glare furiously at her. She wilted.

"I hope you'll get to stay anyway. I liked your syllabus."

Bob softened, and took the time to really look at Lisa. At eighteen she was still as fresh-faced as her childhood self, but taller than he'd have expected. She seemed self-conscious about it, hunching down to avoid too much attention. He put his hands on her shoulders briefly so she would stand up straight.

"It's been quite a few years since last we met, hasn't it? It might have been wonderful to have you in my class. But I fear the pleasure's been robbed of us both."

He walked away. Lisa fell back into her slump. She felt awful.

"Hold on!"

Lisa dug frantically in her backpack. She caught up to Bob once again.

"I know this won't make up for me outing you today... or in Italy ten years ago... or for the time–"

"Let's speed this up," Bob deadpanned.

"I just finished this. Have you read it?"

Lisa shyly offered him her book: The Master and Margarita. He frowned and put on his glasses so he could inspect the cover.

"Bulgakov, eh? Not yet! It's funny, I've been brushing up on the Russians, too."

He retrieved a thick book from his briefcase and handed it to Lisa.

"'Anna Karenina.' Are you trying to tell me something?"

Bob laughed. "Good luck with your studies, Lisa. I won't be terrorizing you any longer."

Lisa watched as he headed towards the parking lot. He looked good for his age–even his graying hair was still springy and lush–but his movements were heavy from years of suffering. Their brief, senseless reunion distracted Lisa for the rest of the day.


	2. Lisa the Sneak

Chapter content warning: Graphic sex, language.

* * *

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Lisa had blown through Anna Karenina in record time, even for her, and had been moved enough to return it. Bob's office was unlocked, and almost everything inside was already packed away.

"Professor... Bob?"

She idly plucked a square of paper from one of the boxes. It was an old photo of Gino on Bob's shoulders, and Lisa couldn't help but smile.

Suddenly, she heard long strides in the hallway, followed by another set of smaller steps coming towards her.

"Really, Francesca, it's as if you enjoy being cruel. Why see me again if you insist we're through?"

"Roberto, I am telling you the truth when I say I cannot live without my Three Tenors cassette! It was a gift from Luciano Pavarotti lui stesso!"

A hand on the doorknob. Without thinking, Lisa leapt into the closet as Bob and his wife Francesca entered the room. Immediately she realized what a stupid move she'd made. Why hadn't she just excused herself?

"Are you certain the tape is what you miss?"

Lisa suppressed a shiver at Bob's low, sensual purr. Through the slats of the door she could see Bob's hands ease along Francesca's sides.

"Yes, Bob," she said harshly. "As soon as you hand over that audiocassetta, we are through."

"Francesca, per favore. Isn't there a scrap of our marriage left to salvage?"

She sighed. "Bob, when first we met, you were il mayore. But here in America, we are jailed more often than free. You lose every job you're given. I cannot continue on this way. We deserve more!"

Lisa saw the heartbreak in Bob's expression and immediately felt his pain, followed by her own guilt. She hadn't meant for him to lose his job _or_ his marriage. Bob spoke softly, entreatingly in Italian, kissing her neck tenderly.

"Roberto, you're only making it harder on yourself," Francesca moaned.

Lisa knew that it was wrong, wrong, wrong, that this was a private moment not meant for her to watch, but she couldn't wrench her eyes away. Bob's hands fluttered delicately over Francesca's collar, her chest, her belly, as he murmured melodies into her ear. Her mouth opened in a pant as his palm slid up her thigh and disappeared under her skirt.

"At the least your cunt still warms to my touch," he growled. "Aching for attention..."

Lisa drew back, mortified. She shut her eyes tightly but couldn't block out Bob's throaty, filthy Italian, the wet, languid sound of his fingers, or Francesca's cries of agony as she came. He waited with her as she steadied her breathing. It was killing Lisa to be this quiet.

"Francesca, amore mio... riconsiderare..."

"There is nothing to consider. Goodbye, Roberto. You will not see me again."

She left, and Lisa finally dared to peek. Bob was at the window, head buried in his arms.

"A great Hope fell  
You heard no noise  
The Ruin was within."

Emily Dickinson, Lisa recognized sadly. One of her favorites. When she was sure Bob wouldn't move, she successfully stole out of the room.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Lisa ran out into the quad and collapsed onto the grass. Her heart pounded helplessly.

"Hey, Lisa, we're going to the student union for some expensive food. Wanna come?"

Disoriented, Lisa looked around and saw Milhouse with his friends. He waggled his eyebrows. For some reason, he seemed so young.

"N-no thanks, guys."

The group moved on, and Lisa took more time to calm down. Some thoughts she processed, others went dutifully ignored. One errant realization that struck her was that this was the first time she'd heard the word cunt used reverently, and not as profanity.


	3. Hey, Jazz Hole

Homer, Bart, and Maggie wolfed down their food as usual. Lisa knew it was important to her mother to have these family dinners, but tonight she wasn't in the mood.

"Lisa, how were your classes?"

"Fine."

Marge swallowed her disappointment. Lisa had given that same answer yesterday, and the day before that. Lisa caught her mother's expression and continued grudgingly.

"Our new biology professor is a jerk. She spends hours just lecturing us."

"What happened to the old biology professor?" Marge asked attentively.

"It was Sideshow Bob, but... I got him fired on his first day."

Bart cackled.

"Then his wife left him."

Bart's laughter redoubled.

"It's not funny!" Lisa yelled.

"Just goes to show ya, crime doesn't pay," said Bart, chewing. "Maybe I'll bring the ole slingshot with me to the unemployment office in case he's there."

Marge began clearing the table, which made Lisa frown. Her children were adults, but she still served them food and cleaned up after them.

"Bart, sweetie, I don't think it's a very good idea for you to go on unemployment. You're only twenty years old, and it runs out quicker than you think."

"Your mother's right, boy. Greedy Uncle Sam won't pay you to do nothing for long."

"They've been paying you to do nothing for a pretty long time."

"Why you–"

As Bart and Homer fought, Lisa disappeared, unnoticed. She was sick of how little her family had changed and grown over the years. They were stuck in the same habits and the same routines. And no matter how much she struggled, she was stuck there with them.

Lisa put on a sweater and snagged her saxophone from her room.

"Bye, I'm going to work," she called at the front door, as a private joke to herself. The family didn't hear her. It was like she lived in another dimension.

Lisa worked at a tiny, dank music lounge downtown. After months of hunting, she finally found an owner who would let her play a set with the band in exchange for bussing tables. Technically, she wasn't being paid to play, and it made her clothes stink like cigarettes and cheap booze, but it was better than nothing.

"What's good, Lisa?"

"Hi, Lou. Not much, I'm afraid."

Lou played a deflated flourish on the piano and she couldn't help but smile.

"Me neither, beautiful. Well, tell it to the horn."

He played her something tender and bluesy. Lisa closed her eyes and let herself feel the atmosphere. Her sax rumbled slowly, exciting the piano. Warmth soaked through her, and she remembered watching Sideshow Bob touch his wife. She knew it was perverse, but she hadn't stopped fantasizing about what she'd seen and heard: his drawn out, teasing strokes, his dutiful attention to her throat, reducing her to gasps and whimpers. It was ammo enough to make her cum over and over each night and again each morning. Never before had she been so consumed by sex.

When the song ended, there was no applause (there never was), but a few of the patrons were leering at her in newfound appreciation. Someone coughed uncomfortably. She slunk back into the shadows, embarrassed by her transparency.

"That sure was... something else!" Lou encouraged.

"I–"

Her boss interrupted.

"Lisa! Get to work!"

Lisa packed up her sax and put on her apron. Usually when she bussed tables, people paid her no mind, but tonight she felt the distinct presence of eyes following her.

"Hey, girlie. Come here often?"

Lisa frowned. "I work here."

"I like how you play the oboe, there."

"Saxophone."

"Fascinating stuff. You interested in giving a squeeze job to a much older man?"

"That's enough! Show a little respect!"

Lisa's heart leapt at the familiar voice.

"I was going to buy her something!" the wise guy whined. Sideshow Bob's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Why bother being the nice guy...?" he muttered, skulking away.

"Hi, Bob," Lisa greeted. Bob's expression remained steely.

"Lisa. What are you doing in a place like this?"

She smirked. "That's worse than the line the last guy used."

Bob sputtered, making her giggle. Someone spilled a drink on the table next to them and she cleaned it up, reality sobering her.

"What does it look like? I'm putting myself through college."

Bob's brow furrowed, but he didn't argue.

"What are you doing in a place like this?"

" 'What does it look like?' " he echoed darkly, finishing his drink. Lisa watched him swallow. Suddenly, she felt nervous.

"Bob, I know that you and I have a colorful past,"

He snorted.

"but if you need a friend–"

"If ever I require the company of a nosy college freshman slash busgirl, I'll come straight to you," he interrupted, sounding bored. Lisa grabbed his copy of Anna Karenina, which was conveniently just behind the bar, and returned it.

"Great. Here's your book back."

"Excuse me, miss! I could use the company of a er, uh, fresh college bust girl!"

Lisa ignored the bursts of shouting and laughter trailing her from a drunken Freddy Quimby's table and did her best to avoid conversation for the rest of the night.


	4. Bob Hopeless

Despite his earlier chilliness, Lisa noticed Bob at her club many more times over the course of the semester. Sometimes they would catch up, or trade books, and sometimes they wouldn't say a word. He never commented on her playing, though she often caught him watching.

Bart ran an unemployment scam. The Simpsons went to Vietnam. Rod Flanders got married. Dr. Nick went missing. Nelson briefly became an organic farmer. Lisa earned a 4.0, ran several student clubs, and applied to her dream schools for the fall, including one last minute long shot. Homer learned the meaning of Kwanzaa.

It was the darkest part of winter, and Lisa trudged to work through heavy snow. She knew that tonight, her audience would be warm in their homes instead of out listening to her. But she didn't mind. Especially compared to her crappy general education classes, the saxophone was the most challenging and rewarding study in Lisa's life.

The club was empty, excepting Shauna the bartender, her boss, and one patron.

"Lisa. It's an empty house. If you really need the hours, you can give the can a good scrubbing. Otherwise, get lost."

Lisa shook the snow out of her layers.

"I was really looking forward to playing tonight."

"Well, Lou's in bed with the flu and there's only one customer. Hey, bozo," he yelled across the bar. "You interested in hearing some unaccompanied sousaphone?"

"Saxophone," Lisa corrected flatly, annoyed at his purposeful ignorance. The lone customer shifted, and she immediately recognized his silhouette. Sideshow Bob didn't react to her boss's screaming, and Shauna had to jab him to get his attention. She said something to Bob and pointed at the door, where a snowy Lisa Simpson waved awkwardly under apple red cheeks. Bob nodded.

"Whatever. Don't clock in unless you clean something," ordered the boss.

Lisa got on stage and screwed on her mouthpiece.

"You have a request. Don't play so loud. That's from me. And the scarecrow dude says no jazz, and nothing hopeful." Shauna told Lisa. "Whatever that means."

Bob stared, unfocused, at his drink, and when Lisa saw him she was struck again by the weight of his sorrow.

Lisa didn't bother with the microphone. She began slowly and simply with a composition from Unsuk Chin. At first she worried it would be too modern for Bob, but as she warmed up to the piece she realized it didn't matter. She abandoned the familiar notes and slid gradually into a heady, atonal haze.

This was Lisa Simpson's hell. It was the thick, rotting stew of her heart–incomprehensible, alien, and revolting–the sense that she would always be a waste, that it was natural and good to be isolated, and fate to be suffocated by her hated self. She prayed for acceptance with one steady, drawn out note, but this doomed hunt became painful and graceless as she steadily ran out of air. The saxophone withered and died with a bare, helpless twitch of the keys. Lisa closed her eyes, pulse roaring, and didn't inhale until the sweet, accidental ambient sounds softly filled the silence with life again.

She packed up her instrument, composing herself, and went to the bar.

"What the hell was that? It wasn't even a song."

"It's post-modern," Lisa told Shauna, but there was no fight left in her.

"More like post- _good_."

Sideshow Bob let out a loud laugh, startling them both.

"Normally, I'd agree with you," he conceded. "But Lisa Simpson is bafflingly rare."

Lisa tingled with the unexpected praise. "Thanks, Bob."

Shauna rolled her eyes and went to the other side of the bar to look at her phone.

Lisa brought out Bob's copy of Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man.

"Here's your book back. I wanted to thank you extra for this one. It was transformative."

"To tell you the truth, our literary game of catch has been a sorely needed bright spot in my life, as well," Bob admitted. "Francesca left me last summer. She took Gino with her to Italy, but leaving Springfield violates my parole, so I haven't seen my son in four months."

Lisa tried to absorb the reality of this, but couldn't.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

He took out his wallet and paid his bill.

"Bob?" Lisa heard herself call quietly as Bob put on his coat. Her voice had been so small she was surprised when he glanced back. "I was wondering... La Bohème is coming to the Springfield Opera as soon as the Nutcracker wraps up. I was planning to go by myself, but..."

Bob looked at her with a very strange expression, a mixture of suspicion and something else. She thought that the conclusion to her question was obvious, but he seemed to be waiting.

"...I would love if you came with me."

She could tell Bob was scouring her for a mistake, or a trap rake, but it was an honest question. Finally, he took out a pen and jotted something onto one of the bar napkins before putting on his hat and leaving.

As soon as he'd gone, Lisa eagerly uncovered the napkin to see what he'd written her. It was his phone number and initials.


	5. Bart Park

A night at the opera with Bob turned into espresso, which turned into a long walk through the arts district. Lisa's cheeks ached with laughter.

"I can't remember the last time I was out this late," she confided.

"Come again?"

"I said, I'm not usually out this late!"

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

Bob undid his tie and made a convincing show of flossing his brain through his ears.

"Try now."

Lisa laughed again, and Bob gave her a small, relieved smile. They had wandered into a sculpture park, and Lisa sat on one of the benches as her giggles subsided.

"Bob, this is going to sound insane, but I can't keep it to myself another minute." She drew a deep breath. "I have a huge crush on you."

Bob blinked. "A crush?"

Lisa nodded. Bob was momentarily stunned, then joined her on the bench.

"It doesn't bother you that I've made multiple attempts to kill you and your brother?"

She swallowed. "I don't think you're a killer. Maybe you never were."

Bob's eyes bored into hers. "Or that I'm old enough to be your father?"

She didn't flinch. "The Buddha teaches that the soul is ageless."

"Or that I'm still legally married to-"

"If you don't want me, just say so."

Bob fell silent.

"That would be easier," he considered. "but it isn't true."

Lisa brightened with excitement, but Bob's cloudiness couldn't be reached. She slid her hand into his. They were barely touching, and at first, he didn't react. But just as she decided to pull away, his fingers curled to rest against hers.

"Why, if it isn't my oldest enemy, with... Sideshow Bob?!"

Lisa and Bob turned.

"Bart!" Lisa exclaimed, startled. "What are you doing at the sculpture park at two in the morning?"

Bart threw his welding torch and malt liquor bottle behind some bushes and rounded on them suspiciously.

"The better question is, what are _you two_ doing at the sculpture park at two in the morning?"

He stared pointedly at their handholding. Bob pulled away in a gesture of surrender. "It's all perfectly innocent."

"Guilty says what?"

"What? Damn it!"

Bart cracked up. "Oh, Bob. You'll never defeat me. But seriously, stay the hell away from my sister."

Lisa rolled her eyes and pulled Bart aside.

"You know how you act like you're so cool all the time? Well, here's another great opportunity to act cool!"

Bart groaned. "Lise, you have, without a doubt, the worst taste in men. Milhouse, Nelson, Gil-"

"I helped Gil Gunderson research representing himself in court as a friend," Lisa mentioned sharply.

"-but Sideshow Bob? How can you trust him? Just look at that maniac!"

The Simpson kids glanced back at Bob, who was peacefully observing a moth that had landed on a frond of his hair. He smiled and waved. Lisa waved back until Bart smacked her arm.

"Hey!"

"Knock that off. I forbid you from seeing him!"

Lisa scoffed. "As if! But you are going to keep your mouth shut about this, especially around Mom and Dad, because... let's see, which card to play? Your fake drug dealer?"

"Flew the coop."

"Fighting roosters?"

"Flushed."

She scrutinized him for weakness, but he was airtight.

"Forget it, sister, you got nothing on me."

Lisa recalled the welding torch she had seen just moments ago.

"I won't reveal who vandalized the art tonight."

Lisa offered her brother a smile, serene in victory. Bart narrowed his eyes.

"They're your guts, get 'em slashed if you want. But when you turn up missing I'm telling the cops where they can find your corpse."

Lisa inhaled an argument, and let it go on the exhale. "Fine."

"Fine!"

Bart flipped her the bird, snatched his booze and ambled off into the shadows.

"An evening with the Simpsons. What a treat!" Bob said drily, standing as Lisa returned. She sighed.

" 'Evening,' is polite for 'difficult encounter,' but thanks for the encouragement."

Her effortless disappointment caught Bob by surprise, and he admired the heart kept on her sleeve.

"Less difficult than you may imagine. Can I take you home?"

Bob shyly offered Lisa his arm, and enjoyed the expression on her face as she took it, and the feeling of her frustration evaporating to calm.


	6. To Catch a Meddler

Chapter content warning: Graphic sex.

* * *

"I like your place," Lisa mentioned as Bob helped her out of her jacket. "Very minimalist."

Bob and Lisa had been seeing each other for three months, but this was the first time she'd been to his apartment. Lisa could guess why, but she'd never been hurt enough to be anything but willing, and at times his caution made her impatient.

"Shall I get you a glass of wine, or a juice box?"

Lisa gave him a knowing look. He only made fun of their age difference when he felt uncomfortable.

She sat on the couch while he searched for a bottle of wine in the kitchen. "Actually, Bob, I'm not thirsty." she responded coolly. "I was hoping you would touch me, if you can stomach my youth."

Lisa stared a challenge, but Bob didn't seem ruffled by her suggestion. He joined her on the couch and gently traced his fingers along her hairline to the back of her skull.

"Like this?" he asked, swinging his thumb under her earlobe. She laughed.

"Kinda."

"What about..."

His hand followed the dip in her collarbone to her shoulder and back around, grazing the stem of her neck. She exhaled. Every nerve was alive and ready. Bob leaned in to kiss her jawline as his hands rose past her sides and over the contours of her back.

"Forgive me for taking my time," he murmured into her ear as his fingertips trailed over each rib. "But you deserve to be savored."

He found her lips and kissed her, pulling her into his arms and angling her into more of a reclining position. He felt the planes where legs met hips, the muscles along her stomach, increasing the pressure between her breasts at her hard sternum. Her hips bucked against him and he pulled back. Questioningly, Lisa reached to touch his face, but he caught her wrist and kissed it, pressing it to his forehead between his eyes.

"You are truly beautiful, Lisa Simpson."

She sat forward to look at him. "And you, Bob Terwilliger. I feel like I never knew you until this moment."

Lisa kissed his cheek. Bob shifted her body gently so he could unbutton and unzip her jeans. She hummed in pleasure as he touched her thighs, hips, and belly, sliding up to massage her breasts under her shirt, teasing her nipples, and down again to caress her lightly through her underwear. She was aching, and he rubbed her pussy soothingly, lingering over her wetness. He took plenty of time, and when he finally pulled her last layer aside to feel her bare skin, she cried out, ready to burst.

But he wouldn't let her finish, instead deliberately leading her to peaks and easing her back down, pausing sometimes to explore her body with his hands, or kiss her someplace new.

"Lisa..." he breathed. "I want to taste you."

She kissed him obligingly. When she drew back, he was wearing an expression that read, 'You can't be serious'. She blushed, immediately realizing what he'd meant.

"Oh! Um, yes, please."

He smiled kindly and kissed her again, though she still felt the remnants of a smirk on his mouth. She bit his lip and he retreated, easing off her jeans and making his way down to her pelvis. Lisa moaned softly when she felt his breath against her, kissing her thighs and under her navel. He spread her open and teased her much like before, his touch becoming light or slow the moment she started to shake. She felt his mouth watering and he devoured her hungrily, arms wrapping around her legs to pull her closer. Her nerves blazed, raw to the point of pain; blood rushed from her head. She could feel herself teetering as he gradually backed off, softly nudging her clit with his tongue.

"Bob," she begged. "Please..."

He made his way back to her ear and she couldn't help wailing in anguish. He kissed her temple.

"Shhh, darling... it's all right..."

He began to stroke gently with his fingers, with no sign of denying her another instant. She could feel him growl in appreciation as her pleasure mounted higher and higher, leaving her gasping in shock as the intensity kept growing, seizing for far longer than she expected through wave after delayed wave of warm bliss. Released from her spasm, her heart boomed in grateful relief. Bob waited for her excitement to die down. When her breath became steady again, he drew back and kissed her. She looked at him expectantly and slid her hand along his thigh.

"Do you...?"

"Another time," he promised. Lisa felt ready to faint, so she obediently flopped back to the couch with a sigh.

"That was–"

She stopped when she noticed the pure smug oozing out of Bob.

"Eugh! I'm glad I could help you please yourself!"

He laughed, and the sound was so hearty and healthy that Lisa couldn't help feeling wonderful.

* * *

Lisa hauled her bicycle out of the backseat of the cab and onto Evergreen Terrace. It was very late. Her orgasmic zen had already been disturbed by a series of panicked texts. She unlocked the door, already knowing she would find her mother stress-cleaning the kitchen. When she tried to head up to her room, Marge cut her off at the stairs.

"Lisa, I was very worried about you."

"I'm fine, forget about it."

"There are a lot of things I ignore around here, but my teenage daughter dating a predator is not one! Sweetie, don't you think that older guys who go after much younger woman are just a little... skeezy?"

Lisa was mad.

"Mom, while I live in this house I'd like to come and go as I please, and not be hassled about how I live my life."

She stormed up the stairs. Marge followed her, trying to keep her voice down for the other members of the household.

"I'm not trying to hassle you, I'm just begging you to be careful."

"Got it."

"Lisa, please don't shut me out!"

Lisa paused at her doorway, realizing she was literally about to shut the door of her room. Instead, she let Marge enter.

"I know you're more than capable of making your own decisions, but everyone makes mistakes. That's why certain pens have erasers. And I know as your mother I'm fixating on the worst case scenario, but..."

Lisa was sympathetic. It wasn't hard to understand how her mother felt.

"I don't think he's a creep, Mom. I've been the one pursuing him, if I'm being honest. And maybe he used to have anger problems, and sure, he was a teensy bit evil, but he's been through a lot of therapy, and–"

She could tell Marge still wasn't a hundred percent sold on the idea of her daughter dating the man who'd attempted to murder her sister and her son. Lisa switched tactics.

"I'm dating Sideshow Bob and you can't do anything to stop me. I promise I'll be careful."

"Do you have that self defense spray I got you?"

"Yes, Mom."

Marge stole a quick hug after she was hustled out.

"I love you, Lisa. Remember, if he's ever too 'insistent,' tell him you're on your–" She lowered her voice. "p-e-r-i-o–"

"Good night," Lisa said, and shut the door.


	7. The Punchline

"My dear, you seem preoccupied."

Lisa glanced up at Bob in a daze. She'd been staring at the dinner he'd cooked for the past ten minutes trying to think of the kindest way to tell him her news.

"Is it the haricots verts? I was afraid they were a little underdone, but–"

"Cotto a puntino, like always. It's just..."

Bob was looking at her in a way that only made her pain worsen.

"...I've been offered a full ride to Juilliard."

His eyes lit up. "Lisa, that's incredible! Congratulations!"

But Lisa wasn't happy, nor could she understand Bob's reaction.

"Don't you get it? If I accept, I'll move to New York and we won't be able to see each other!"

"Wasn't it your dream to someday leave this nuclear wasteland? You belong with your own kind–global citizens and pioneers of culture!" Bob put his hand on hers sympathetically. "Why stand still now, when your life is just beginning?"

Lisa pulled away. "And what if I decide to study environmental science at Springfield A&M? Would that be such a tragedy?"

Bob's face fell. "Not if you truly felt that was your calling," he began, "but don't shrink away from the height of your musical talent on my account."

Lisa stood up from the table and put on her shoes.

"Lisa, please. You must have seen this coming."

"I need a little space."

Lisa tried not to cry as she took the bike path through the forest. Everyone was so thrilled for her to go to Juilliard–even Bob, who treated her like she was so special, then acted as if her leaving wouldn't matter at all.

* * *

Bob glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror and saw a shifty and disheveled man. After his argument with Lisa, he hadn't heard from her for a week. She broke the silence yesterday with a handwritten note on his door:

 _Pick me up at the airport, June 1, 3:05 PM, Gate 24._

It was a strange request, and she avoided his subsequent questions about where she had gone or why. At this point, he was a little annoyed at Lisa for thinking she could order him to wait for her in the stressful passenger pick up lane of the airport without even telling him–

"Gino?!"

A thin, fluffy haired boy turned and gave Bob a timid smile of recognition. "Hi, Papa."

Bob stumbled out of the car and pulled Gino into a tight embrace.

"Gino! O mio bambino caro! Your papa missed you so much!"

Gino allowed the hug, but grew more and more embarrassed at its length. "Papa, io non sono un bambino."

Bob held his son out at arm's length. At thirteen, he wasn't tall or strong, but he certainly wasn't a bambino.

"No, of course not. You're a fine young man. But to me, you'll always be–"

The traffic piling up behind them began honking aggressively.

"Hey asshole, we all got emotional reunions here!" yelled Carl from his car as an extremely tan Lenny glared from the sidewalk.

"Just a minute! Animals, all of you!" Bob shouted angrily. When he turned back to his son, he saw an amused smile peeking from Gino's face as the boy waited for his father to finish.

"You get the idea. Let's get your things in the car."

Bob could barely keep his eyes on the road the entire way home. Even though it had been less than a year since they'd seen each other, he could tell the boy had gone through a lot.

"I can't believe you're here... did you get my letters?"

"Yes, eventually. Mama kept them from me for a while. I think leaving was very hard on her."

Mention of Francesca silenced Bob for several miles. Despite everything, the memory of her leaving still produced fresh pain. He had loved Francesca deeply and once hoped to spend his life with her. Now, they never spoke.

"So why allow you to visit?"

"Your ragazza kept calling and convinced her to send me here for the summer."

Lisa, Bob understood. This was a lot of information to process. As he helped carry the luggage up the stairs to his apartment, he grew more and more excited about his summer with Gino.

"They finally refinished the soccer stadium after the fan riot, their youth league is very competitive. And the Natural History Museum started an outdoor concert series every first Wednesday, you'd like that."

Gino rolled his eyes. "Papa, isn't it still the same town you say is 'baser than the foulest swamp'?"

"Springfield? Admittedly, it's not perfect, but it's–"

Bob paused, surprised by what he was about to say. "–a fine place to live."

It was a strange realization, but somehow he knew he meant it. He wondered briefly about Lisa's threat to study at Springfield A&M until he noticed something on the kitchen table.

"Does this couch fold out?"

"Certemente," Bob called to Gino from the kitchen. In his hands he held a piece of the Juilliard welcome packet, and on it, two words:

 _I'm going_


	8. Gifts

That summer, Lisa spent a lot of time speaking Italian and being mistaken for Bob's daughter in public. And while she promised dinner at the Simpsons "wouldn't be that bad," the night began with a vulnerable Aunt Selma hooking up with an inexplicably present Krusty the Clown... and went downhill from there.

"I'm glad you're so blasé about seeing my daughter, Bob. But how would you like it if some older lady came after your son?" Marge asked, shaking her half glass of wine at Gino.

Lisa gave Bob a long massage as an apology. It took her forever to work out the kinks in his neck from the massage Homer had given him (by force).

Since one summer together was all they were allowed, Bob made an extra effort to be exciting and romantic. But the reality was that he had a son to support, and his time and finances were limited. Lisa, too, needed to visit all the people and places she would soon be separated from. She even went on a few adventures with her real father, Homer Simpson.

"Lisa, you and I haven't always been close," he told her as they sat and watched the evidence crackle and burn in the old family fireplace, "But I love you so much, I'd do anything for you. So if you need something, even if it's money–"

"I don't need anything, Dad. I love you, too." Lisa told him. She heard his huge sigh of relief through their hug. Part of her knew she should appreciate these last few moments at home, but another, restless part was dying to leave.

* * *

The night before she left for New York, Lisa showed up at Bob's door. Gino was staying the night with a friend. Lisa had barely crossed the threshold before she found herself wrapped in Bob's arms.

He held her for a long time. When he began to hear snuffling, he stroked her head.

"I'm going to miss you," she sniffed.

"You have given me so much," Bob told her, gravely wiping a thumb along her wet lashes. "Oh, but don't be afraid I'll expect too much more. One can't expect a traveling salesman to stay put–"

Lisa burst into laughter. "Are you blowing me off with some sugary stage dialogue?"

"I'm trying to explain how I feel about you," Bob insisted, completely serious. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

"There were bells on the hill, but I never heard them ringing. No, I never heard them at all, till there was you," he sang. Lisa rested her head on his chest to listen, and Bob swayed her gently. "There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging. No, I never saw them at all, till there was you."

Bob lead her into a spin, and her heart swelled until she sang. "And there was music! And there were, uh..."

That had been the only part of the song Lisa knew.

"–wooooooonderful roses," Bob provided, drawing her close. She smiled. "they tell me, in sweet, fragrant meadows of dawn and dew."

He looked honestly into Lisa's eyes.

"There was love all around, but I never heard it singing...!"

His high note rang out.

"You brought me back to life," Bob told her, taking her hands in his. Lisa could barely find the words.

"My first love."

Bob bowed his head to rest against hers. Lisa was beginning to feel blubbery again when he pulled back. "Enough waterworks, let's have some fireworks."

She laughed in delight as he picked her up and kissed her.

* * *

New York in the autumn was more beautiful than Lisa ever could have imagined. She was heartbroken over Bob and falling in love with the city, and it felt terrible and wonderful at the same time. She made new friends. She went to political protests. She surrounded herself with music and art in every form she could find.

Lisa was putting together her saxophone one cold day in Washington Square Park when she noticed that one of the reeds in her pack was inscribed with faint gold lettering.

Odd to inscribe a single reed, which has a lifespan of about two weeks, Lisa puzzled as she dug it out. It read:

 _Powerful  
Fleeting_

Lisa knew it was from Bob, and drew a fingertip over the words as emotion surged through her. Her feelings, like this fragile piece of cane–like all things–were impermanent. She might struggle to recall exactly how he smoothed the spikes of hair against her neck, or the playful way he pronounced 'mellifluously', but she would never feel for him as she did now. But for now, she was grateful for her love, and that he loved her, too–however briefly. Lisa screwed the reed in place and began to play, her heart not shrinking but expanding as it mourned and celebrated its extraordinary contents.

* * *

 ** _The End._**

 _Thank you so much for reading, and a special thanks to those who wrote reviews. If you enjoyed the story, consider letting me know! With much love, till next time,_

 _\- rent-a-bird_


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